*Detective Kathleen "Angel" Hyatt*
The badge felt heavier these days. Kathleen stood in the precinct's evidence locker, staring at vials of confiscated Chance. Seventeen different strains, each labeled with its effects and fatality rate. A rainbow of human ambition and desperation.
"Hyatt." Captain Morrison appeared in the doorway. He looked like he'd aged a decade in two weeks. "Mayor wants an update on the Friend investigation."
"Still no leads." The lie came easily. She'd destroyed Friend's last message, kept their identity theories to herself. Some truths were too dangerous. "Probably dead. Most enhanced from that period are."
"Yeah, well, tell that to the families of the dealers they carved up." Morrison paused. "There's something else. DEA intercepted communications about a new player. Someone calling themselves 'Prophet.' Claims to have Solomon's location."
Kathleen's pulse quickened. Solomon—the chemist who'd created the most dangerous strains. Who'd vanished leaving only Omega behind. "Any credibility?"
"They're selling information to the highest bidder. Bidding war between the Triad, what's left of the Vampire Syndicate, and some government black site in Nevada." Morrison handed her a file. "You're the only one who got close to Friend. Maybe you can find Prophet before this turns into another bloodbath."
The file was thin. Encrypted messages, bitcoin transactions, one blurry photo of a figure in a plague doctor mask. Prophet had appeared three days ago, claiming to have not just Solomon's location but his complete research. Including strains that hadn't been released.
"I'll need resources," Kathleen said. "And autonomy. No oversight."
"You think I'm stupid? Last time I gave you autonomy, you broke into Prometheus with a werewolf."
"And stopped an airborne plague. You're welcome."
Morrison sighed. "Fine. But daily reports. And Hyatt? The city can't survive another Chance war. Whatever Prophet's selling, it can't hit the streets."
Kathleen left the precinct as the sun set. The city looked different now—Supernatural Sector checkpoints, armed patrols, "Human Only" signs that would have been illegal a month ago. Fear had won.
Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.
*Hello, Angel. Heard you're looking for me. - Prophet*
She nearly dropped the phone. How did they—
*Friend spoke highly of you. Said you learned to observe. Want to observe something interesting? Warehouse District. Building 47. Come alone.*
It was obviously a trap. But Prophet had information she needed. And after everything, what was one more risk?
The warehouse district was a ghost town after dark. Enhanced gangs had claimed it during the riots, then abandoned it when the National Guard moved in. Building 47 was unremarkable—rust and broken windows like all the others.
Inside, candles created a circle of light. In the center sat a figure in that plague doctor mask, surrounded by chemistry equipment.
"Detective Hyatt." The voice was electronically distorted, but something felt familiar. "Welcome to the new world's edge."
"Prophet, I presume. Dramatic entrance. Friend would be proud."
"Friend is dead. Strain X burned them from the inside out. But their vision lives on." Prophet gestured to a chair. "Sit. Let me show you the future."
Against her better judgment, Kathleen sat. Prophet produced a vial—not amber like Chance, but prismatic, shifting colors in the candlelight.
"Strain Alpha-Omega. Solomon's masterpiece. It doesn't enhance or diminish. It transforms. Complete cellular reconstruction. Human becomes lycanthrope. Vampire becomes human. Shape-shifter becomes static. True metamorphosis."
"That's impossible."
"So was Chance, once." Prophet tilted their head. "The bidding war isn't for Solomon's location. It's for this. Imagine—species as a choice, not a birthright. The ultimate freedom."
"Or the ultimate chaos. People changing species like clothing?"
"Change is chaos. Evolution is violent." Prophet stood, moving with inhuman grace. "But you didn't come here for philosophy. You want Solomon."
"Yes."
"He's dead. Strain X, like Friend. But his laboratory remains. Hidden beneath the city. I'll give you the location for a price."
"Which is?"
Prophet removed their mask.
Kathleen's breath caught. The face underneath was wrong—features shifting, skin rippling between human and... something else. Not lycanthrope. Not vampire. Something new.
"I was Solomon's first Alpha-Omega test subject," Prophet said with their real voice. Female, young, terrified. "He wanted to create gods. He created something that can't stop changing. Every few hours, I'm something different. Human. Wolf. Bat. Things that don't have names."
"You want me to find a cure."
"I want you to stop others from becoming like me." Prophet—the girl—looked maybe nineteen. "Solomon's lab has everything. His research, remaining strains, the real Omega formula. But also his failures. Subjects who didn't survive. Horrors that make Friend's murders look merciful."
"Why trust me?"
"Because you're the only one who sees the cost. Everyone else sees power, opportunity, evolution. You see the bodies." She handed Kathleen a map, hand trembling. "Find the lab. Destroy Alpha-Omega. Let people remain what they are."
"What about you?"
"I'm already lost. But maybe others don't have to be."
The girl pulled her mask back on, becoming Prophet again. "Go. Others are watching. And Detective? When you find the lab, remember—Solomon thought he was saving the world too."
Kathleen left with the map burning in her pocket. Another choice. Another chance to save or doom the city.
But first, she had to descend into a madman's laboratory and face whatever horrors genius had birthed in the dark.